"All right, Sten, there's a whole market of merchants here. Anyone fit the description?"

The giant horned man hummed low in his throat. "I did not receive much of a description."

Solona just blinked rapidly for a moment. "Well, did you at least get a name? Anything?" Really, could he be less helpful?

"He is called Faryn. The man at the lake called him 'squirrelly,' whatever that means."

"Small, weak, cowardly – like a squirrel," Leliana supplied helpfully. She sighed as she scanned the crowd. "Which describes most merchants, unfortunately."

Sten frowned. "Squirrels are clever, and I have always found them to be bold. They only run when they are truly at risk, gathering and stowing their food for the winter up until danger is imminent."

"Be that as it may," Solona interjected, sensing an argument on semantics coming up that she really didn't want to sit through with two non-native speakers of the common tongue, "he would have meant it in the way Leliana described. And she's right – that describes pretty much anyone I can see. He didn't give you the color of the man's hair or anything?" Sten shook his head. She sighed. "Fine. We'll just have to look the old-fashioned way, I suppose."

It took an hour, but they did eventually find the man. Asking around for a human merchant named Faryn led them to a redheaded man who indeed had the look of a frightened squirrel – especially once he saw Sten approach with Solona, Max, and Leliana. He dodged and avoided their questions right up until Sten pulled his giant sword and threatened to run him through. That's when it came out that he had salvaged a giant sword that looked qunari-made, but that he had already sold it. To a dwarf who made his home in Redcliffe.

"That buffoon is the one who bought it from you?" Solona remembered him. Dwynne, the cowardly dwarf who chose to hole himself up in his own home with his thugs instead of helping them defend Redcliffe village from the vile creatures that had attacked in the dead of night. She hadn't known how to convince him to help at the time. If they had had his help, Zevran may not have needed to lie recuperating in the Chantry in the village while they retook the castle. Zevran's help during that venture would have been invaluable.

She narrowed her eyes at the merchant, then turned and stalked away toward the rest of her companions, who had chosen to find stables for their mounts before seeing how to enter the city of Orzammar itself. Sten sheathed his sword with a scowl, following in Solona's wake with Max and Leliana.

As they approached the giant stone doors in the mountainside, they heard an argument in progress. "For the last time, human, I cannot allow entry at this time!"

"But King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr! Or lords, or whatever you call them in your assembly! I am his appointed messenger!"

Alistair, Morrigan, Wynne, and Zevran stood off to the side, looking highly conspicuous and yet staying out of the argument.

"I don't care if you're the king's wiper," the dark-haired dwarf in front of the doors responded. "Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled!"

The men looked about ready to come to blows. Solona decided to intervene. "I have important business in Orzammar, ser dwarf."

"No business more important than mine," the sallow-skinned representative of Loghain sneered.

"Solona!" Leliana hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Involving myself," Solona responded, stepping forward. "Is there no way in?"

"Your business will wait, human," the dwarf responded, looking every bit as irritated with her as he was with Loghain's man, though thankfully not yelling this time. "Orzammar must limit outside influence until the throne is settled. No one gets in." He crossed his arms across his chest as he stared up at her.

"And if I don't get in, no one should!" Loghain's man spat, stepping up to get his face in Solona's. Unfortunately, he was rather shorter than Solona, and as she stared down into his face, undaunted, she imagined he looked rather funny to an onlooker.

Turning, she faced the dwarf once more, thoroughly maddening the human representative. "Something happened to your king?"

The guard sighed. "Clearly you have not heard. Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his son and daughter. The Assembly cannot agree on a successor, and if it is not settled soon, we risk civil war."

Loghain's soldier raged. "As do we! We need your allegiance to fight the darkspawn! Our king was killed by the wardens months ago! It is only by Loghain's wise leadership that we even remain a nation thanks to those traitorous bastards!"

"Hey!" Solona's shout was echoed by Alistair's. She found him at her side immediately, and they both stared down the other man. With their helmets off, he got a good look at them, his pale face paling further.

"You! You are the Grey Wardens!" He pulled his sword, brandishing it at them as if he were a danger. "You killed King Cailan! I will kill you, and be rewarded by the Regent for my deeds to the Crown!"

Solona narrowed her eyes. "Shall you, or shall I, Alistair?"

"Oh, I think you should. I rather want to see him turned into a toad."

Solona smirked. Incanting under her breath, she flicked her hand out, and a gust of air pushed the man over. He fell on his rump with a soft oof, and in seconds Solona had his sword in her hand and her boot to his chest. She leveled the sword's point at his throat.

"Insult our Order's name one more time, oaf. Loghain is the traitor, fleeing at Ostagar and leaving his king and the wardens to die." She pressed the sword in slightly, making it difficult for him to breathe.

"Go back to your coward of a Regent," Alistair chimed in, standing side-by-side with Solona, his sword drawn and pointing at the messenger. "Tell him his days on the throne are drawing to a close." Alistair's face scrunched. "Tell him Maric's son says it."

Solona let the man up, tossing his sword to the bottom of the steps. "Go, messenger. Deliver your missive."

He ran off to join his brethren. There were only three of them, and as soon as he reclaimed his sword they vanished into the throng of merchants crowding the plaza. Solona turned around once more.

"Well," she said, coming to stand before the dwarven guard once more. "I suppose we're outed, now. We are the surviving Grey Wardens of Ferelden, and we have treaties compelling the free kingdoms in this land to aid the wardens in the event of a Blight. And we are in the middle of one, ser. We really must speak to whomever is in charge."

The dwarf regarded them with a raised brow. "You don't happen to have these treaties with you, do you?"

"Ah yes, ser." Leliana stepped forward, producing the sheaf of documents with a slight flourish. He took them, shuffling until he found the appropriate one.

"This is the seal of the Assembly. Only they can address it, and it states that the wardens should be admitted into Orzammar at once upon presentation of this document." He handed it back to Leliana, looking back up at Solona. "Are all of you wardens?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Only this man and myself are wardens. But I must insist we all be allowed into the city. Our companions are crucial to our task."

He stroked his beard for a moment before nodding. Stepping aside, he said, "Very well. You may enter Orzammar unhindered, as the document states. Atrast tunsha, Warden."

They stared up as the giant door opened for them. Stifling the urge to make some quip about size compensation, Solona led her companions into Orzammar.

"I won't have fighting in the Commons! Move along!"

Leliana stared with wide eyes. They had just been witness to a murder; some fight of which they could not hear the words, just as they passed from the Hall of Heroes into this place, the Commons. The guard next to the dead body was shooing away onlookers.

"You! Strangers! This is not the place for you! Begone!"

The guard came up to them, eyeing them suspiciously. "What are you doing here, topsiders? No one is allowed in Orzammar right now."

Solona spoke up. "We are Grey Wardens, ser. We have treaties signed by the Assembly, and we need to speak with someone about how to have them honored. The guard outside sent us to speak with the Assembly."

The guard snorted. "Good luck. The Assembly can't even decide on a king to lead us, and our armies can't be rallied until they do. You wanna try your luck? Head up the stairs through that door over there. That's the Diamond Quarter, and that's where all the nobles are."

"Um, I could show them around." Leliana looked around to see a dusky-skinned dwarven woman. She was dirty, her skin covered in dust and grime, her shirt ragged and torn in places. Her face had a tattoo upon it, black ink and blocky shapes, dark and almost thick, like it stood out from her skin. Leliana was not sure, but she thought that the tattoo upon the face of a dwarf was significant in some way.

"Get out, Duster!" The guard bore down upon her. Leliana was horrified as she watched the girl shrink some under the ire of the guard. "Who even let you up here?!"

"Ah! Mercy, mercy! I was visiting my sister! She is consort to the Prince!"

"Well, get back to Dust Town, Duster!"

The girl was cowering a little, but she stood her ground all the same. "All due respect, but Dusters are allowed in the Commons if they have the brand. And I have the brand."

He almost literally fumed. Leliana swore steam would begin issuing from his ears any moment. So she decided to intervene.

"Perhaps she could be of some help to us, ser. She clearly knows her way around, and we do not." She gave him her best smile, the same one that allowed her to kill the leader of the soldiers all those months ago in Lothering without him suspecting. It did not have quite the same effect here, however.

"Oh, sod it all. Do what you want. Just don't come crying to me when she robs you blind." He walked back to the corpse, waving in their general direction as he muttered to himself.

"Thank you, salroka," the dwarf murmured, staring daggers into the guard's back as he walked away.

"You're… welcome, though I'm not sure what for," Leliana admitted. "You said you could help us?"

"Yes." She turned to face them all, staring up into their faces. Her eyes got big when she noticed Sten, but then Max stepped forward and nuzzled her hand with his big burly head.

Solona snorted. "Some fearsome warhound I have here. Max, leave her alone."

"Oh, it's all right, salroka," the dwarf said, taking the dog with both hands and roughing up his face. "I've never actually been able to meet a dog before. Are they all like him?"

"He's not like most," Solona said, kneeling next to him and scratching behind his ear. "He's incredibly affectionate, but also capable of killing a darkspawn ogre when the need arises."

"Wow, you fight darkspawn? Is that why you're here?"

"Sort of," Solona evaded.

Leliana stepped in. "Perhaps we can speak over a meal, or drinks? If you are to guide us around, we should get to know each other a little, yes?"

"I think your best option is my sister," the dwarf said around a mouthful of stew. They sat at one long table at the tavern, Tapster's, Alistair and Solona eating just as much as the dwarf they'd bought a meal for. The fare was simple but hearty, made of nug meat and mushrooms, with some root vegetables thrown in for flavor and variety. Most of the food available down here was grown out of sight of the sun, some low-light growing root vegetables being cultivated as well. Everything else had to be bought from the surface, but as trade had been halted during the Assembly's lockdown, they were stuck with what was immediately available. Luckily, salt existed in abundance down here, so while it was simple fare, it was at least not too bland. It was a fact Leliana was glad for.

The girl's name was Natia Brosca, and she gave them a crash-course in the dwarven caste system. It turned out that Solona and Wynne both knew a great deal about it, given how well-read they both were, but their readings gave them no knowledge on the current state of dwarven politics. They also shared their story with the girl, watching her eyes get big as they described everything they'd been through. Her eyes nearly popped out when they invited her into the inn with them in the first place, and proceeded to buy her drink and a meal. She was not used to such treatment, that much was clear to Leliana.

Solona raised an eyebrow. "Your sister?"

Natia nodded. "Yes. She is consort to Prince Bhelan. She bore him a son weeks before the king died. I am allowed into the Diamond Quarter strictly to visit her and my mother. I…" She put her head down, a clear position of shame. "I still live in Dust Town. I was not allowed to move into the palace with them."

"Dare I ask why?"

She looked up again, a look of defiance coming over her face. "I wouldn't sleep with him. I… simply put, I don't like him. And I refuse to try to get above my station by whoring myself out to the noble Houses." By the time she was through her explanation, her eyes smoldered.

"I can appreciate that sentiment," Leliana murmured, getting her attention. "We all have… colorful pasts, Natia. We are all mifits, outcasts, in some way. I have been in a similar situation and I… was not so strong as you at the time."

The dwarf smirked, then shuddered. "I also don't savor the idea of him sharing the both of us. I don't blame Rica for seeking her fortune this way, but I've always had a hard time swallowing the lot everyone else forced me into." She looked up, then, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry. I'm… outspoken for one of my station. You didn't ask any of this."

Solona beat Leliana to her response. "Hey, I asked why you couldn't be in the palace. You answered."

"Besides," Leliana chimed in. "We need to know how things work here if we are to navigate. I find the people with the most insights into how a system works are those at the very bottom of the structure. And here, that would be the casteless. Like you. Thankfully, you are outspoken and willing to tell us exactly how it is."

Natia blushed, a red hue sweeping across her dusky cheeks. "I just hope I can help. I… I've wanted to be a part of something bigger than me. They don't let us bear weapons – like that stops us," she laughed. "But we can't join the army or battle darkspawn unless we join the Legion, and I haven't been able to bring myself to that. I can't leave my family. Not for certain death. And not for a people that don't even care about me beyond what children I can produce for their nobles."

"Well, you said you can get us in to see one of the candidates for king, though," Alistair finally piped up. "When do you think we can meet him?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "We can go to the palace tomorrow. You should go to the Assembly first, I think. Show that you're impartial and all that nug shit that's important to the deshyrs. You might be able to speak with Harrowmont's Second when you're there, or at least get in touch with him."

Morrigan perked up, showing interest for the first time. "You do not encourage us to go to this Prince Bhelan? Curious, for someone related to a member of his House…"

Natia looked hard at Morrigan. Leliana couldn't help but admit that the witch had a point. "I don't like him. He's not completely useless about the casteless, but he's a slimeball, and thinks women are really only good for one thing. And…" She looked around, continuing only after a moment to make sure they were not overheard. "There are rumors that his brother died because of him. His sister got the blame and was exiled, to fight her way through the darkspawn in the Deep Roads to her death. But Gorim, her Second, was there with her, and he swears Bhelan framed her and killed his own brother." She paused for a moment, frowning. "If that's true, then he's lost any respect from me he might have had, father of my nephew or not. I do not trust a kinslayer."

Leliana considered her for a moment. She was clearly very close with her sister. Family was very important to her. If Bhelan was a kinslayer, then this woman, who valued family above all else, would not be impressed or amused. Leliana sincerely hoped, for Natia and her family's sake, that it was not true.

Natia changed topics after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "I wanted to know something, if you don't mind me asking," she said, addressing Solona.

"Hmm? What can I do for you?"

"The brand on your face. It's a different color, and much prettier than those we give ourselves. What is its significance? I didn't know anyone but dwarves did that."

Solona smiled, taking a long pull from her mug of ale. "Well, Dalish elves tattoo their faces at maturity. It is a sign of becoming an adult, and they often select a member of their pantheon to honor with the markings. But mine… It's a somewhat long story. You know how the dwarves trade lyrium with the Circle of Magi on the surface?" The dwarf nodded. "Well, I am a mage."

"Really? You can work spells and such?" Solona nodded. "Can- can I see?"

"Really, Solona, we are not here to perform tricks for this street rat," Morrigan chided.

"Shut it, Morrigan. I can do as I please." Leliana stifled a laugh as Solona began to incant under her breath, and then a fireball danced in her open palm above the table.

"Showoff," Alistair muttered, laughing and taking a drink from his own mug. Solona laughed as she extinguished the flame, clapping Natia on the shoulder. The dwarf flinched, possibly expecting it to burn her, then shook her head and laughed as well.

Solona got up from the table. "Come along, Natia. Why don't you show us around some? We have need of some things these merchants are likely to have. I'll tell you the rest about my tattoo as we walk."

The next day, only Alistair and Solona accompanied Natia to the Diamond Quarter. Leliana had wanted desperately to go, but it wasn't actually her business, as she was not a Grey Warden. So she wandered the stalls with Wynne instead, trying hard not to mope. She was taken with the dwarven architecture, and the two women had a lively discussion about it. In the end, they both decided that, while it was beautiful in its own way, neither of them would prefer to live among such grandeur.

After several hours and conversation on a range of topics, Leliana found herself venturing into territory she had promised herself after her midnight barefoot venture that she would leave be. "Do you know what you will do, Wynne? After… all this?"

The mage looked up from the vials of raw lyrium dust she was perusing. "Hmm? What? Why do you ask, dear?"

The bard fingered a shawl nearby. "Well, this is the last treaty. Once we are through, we will travel with the arl and his soldiers to Denerim, to unseat Loghain. Alistair and Solona both think that with the first thaw in the spring will come the armies of the Blight. We are… very near the end of this."

Wynne considered her for a moment before going back to the vials of lyrium. "I do not know. The future is uncertain, and it seems foolish to make plans. You say all those things as if they are but a small detail, when they are in fact the whole reason for why we are here: to unseat Loghain, and to rally the armies in Ferelden to face the Blight. All that has led up to it is merely… preparation, for the final battle."

Leliana couldn't help but feel chastised, and tried hard not to react in defense of herself. "I… I suppose you're right. With the future so uncertain, it would only serve to disappoint, were we all to make plans." The plans I had already made have been cut in half, at least. I should have learned my lesson.

Wynne placed a hand on her arm, getting her to look up into the slightly taller woman's face. "I am not saying it is not advised to have hopes and dreams, Leliana. But acknowledge that you cannot rely on any given future possibility to come to pass." She paused, regarding Leliana for a moment. "You are allowed to hope your warden survives, dear. You are allowed to hope for a future. But you should prepare yourself for the worst outcome, as well. Just as I do." As the mage paused, Leliana could not help the dark thoughts. Even if she survives, I do not get the future I had hoped for. "I hope for a future with Zevran. I want to see what it might look like. But I try not to dwell on it, for I cannot make it happen simply by wishing it. I am a talented mage, but I do not think even Solona can transport herself to whichever future she chooses merely by wishing it so."

Leliana sighed, trying to let her bitterness go. "Nor would she if she could. For someone who rebelled against those in authority over her, she is surprisingly loyal to her duty. It is incredibly frustrating. But… also part of why I fell in love with her."

The older woman chuckled. "Indeed. She can be stubborn, can't she?"

"Frustratingly hard-headed, more like." Leliana shook her head, smiling despite herself. "I do love it, though. She does not refuse to see reason, merely has learned that she usually gets what she wants if she digs in her heels and looks intimidating."

"If only all of us could fall back on such a thing," the mage chuckled. "I'm afraid I have no idea what it feels like to be intimidating to others." Leliana gaped. Wynne noticed after a moment, raising her brows. "What is it?"

"Surely you're joking, Wynne? You are a mage! You can wield powers most people cannot even conceive of!"

"Oh," Wynne said, looking down and away. "You have a point, I suppose. Though I do try to use the powers I wield to help others, not intimidate them."

Leliana raised a brow. "And yet I have seen you knock an ogre's face to the side with a boulder you raised from the ground with nothing but the power of your mind."

Wynne mock-glared at her. "An old lady must learn how to defend herself, Leliana. Not all of us know how to hide a dagger in the most unlikely of places."

Leliana opened her mouth to retort, but was never actually able to say anything. Instead, she heard Max's distinctive bark, and when she looked for him, she saw Alistair and Solona's tall figures wading through the crowd of Commons merchants. Abandoning Wynne with the woman's nod of approval, she made her way to meet them.

She was swept into a brief hug by Solona as Alistair and Natia came up behind her, scowling. Leliana pulled back, looking over their faces. "Dare I ask the news?" All three of them looked exasperated.

"Not here," Solona said, taking Leliana's hand and heading in the direction of Wynne's stall. "We should meet in someone's room at the tavern. Our visit was not entirely fruitless, but it certainly feels as though it were." They retrieved Wynne, heading for the inn and the rest of their companions.

"So what you're saying is, you must essentially swear fealty to one party or the other before you're even allowed to see him?" Solona just nodded in answer to Leliana's question.

Morrigan scoffed. "That is preposterous!"

"I agree, but it is the situation we find ourselves in, regardless," Solona answered, sighing as she finally gave up her pacing and slumped onto the bed next to Leliana. The bard instinctively reached out, running her fingers through the practical stubble that was Solona's hair. She felt her lover relax slightly at the touch.

"So you did not have the sort of connection to the prince that you were hoping for then?" Zevran addressed Natia, pulling her attention away from the platter of cheeses and breads that had been delivered to the room for them.

"No, I didn't," she replied, her eyes going immediately back to the food. Leliana supposed a lifetime of poverty and scarce food, especially riches such as cheese and bread, would make anyone that attentive to food. The poor dear.

"Do you feel you could expand on that?"

She sighed. "Look, elf. I'm the lowest of the low here. They don't care about the prince's consort's sister, and she honestly doesn't have all that much clout either. The Prince ran scared, and it's not worth her word on my word that you all won't try to kill him. He really wants to be king. Enough that he killed his brother and framed his sister for it, if the rumors are to be believed."

"And according to Harrowmont's Second, Harrowmont has run scared because he doesn't want Bhelan to be king," Solona added. "He is afraid of death, and what that would mean for the Assembly's choice."

"How old are these people?" Leliana wondered aloud. "This is… child's play compared to the political maneuvering I have participated in."

"This is dwarven politics," Natia pointed out. "We are a different people than what you described to me last night about your own people. We do not hide behind closed doors. Bhelan and Harrowmont both know the other wants them dead. A murder was committed in the streets. We are not a subtle people."

"Still," Zevran said from his spot leaning against the wall. "They hide like cowards. Neither of them would make a good leader if this is how they face a threat."

Alistair stood from the table, where he'd been perusing the food next to Natia. "I agree. A leader must be strong and face threats head-on. But we can't do anything about that. These are the two contenders we are left with. And the Assembly has been deadlocked for weeks. We have the chance to back one of them and sway the Assembly, and then get our treaty honored. I say we take it, as bitter a taste it leaves in my mouth to support either of them."

Solona sighed again. "I agree. But who to support? They both gave us tasks to prove our loyalty, whatever that means in this situation. As if we are their servants, to run them errands."

"Well," Leliana interjected, "what are these tasks?"

Natia was the one to answer. "We can have someone fight as Harrowmont's Champion in the Proving, or we can set Harrowmont up with some forged documents for Bhelan."

"Forged? How do you know?"

Natia shrugged, grabbing another hunk of cheese and bread. "I recognize the handwriting. I had a… friend, when we were part of the Carta together, who specialized in the stuff. This is his work, no doubt about it."

"I've been thinking about it, and I think if I must back someone, it should be Harrowmont," Alistair said. "He only wants us to support him, not to blacken Bhelan's name. It is far more honorable, noble, which is how a king should be."

"Your sentiment is astounding," Morrigan sniped, "And you are unsurprisingly wrong. We should pick he who is stronger, who commands the most respect among the soldiers here, and who would be the best leader during the Blight. Let them go back to bickering amongst themselves once the Blight is dealt with. Their infighting need not concern us, so long as they are united through the battle ahead."

"While you have a point," Solona cut in, stopping Alistair mid-retort, "we do not know who would be best. They are both respected for different things. Bhelan is a good soldier and leader on the field, while Harrowmont is said to be a natural leader and diplomat. Both would be useful in this war. The only thing we can really go on is what leaves the least bitter taste in our mouths." She sighed. "I agree with Alistair. And as it is I who am ultimately in charge, and I who will be supporting Harrowmont in the Proving, I think that's my final decision."

"None of us get a say at all?" Wynne stepped forward.

Solona shrugged. "It's a shit situation. Would you advise me differently? Or would you, Wynne, say to go with what left me the least uncomfortable?" Her smile was wry.

"Indeed," Wynne conceded, her smile conciliatory, "that is exactly what I would advise."

Solona turned to the other mage. "Morrigan?"

The witch scowled. "I think you make the decision on the wrong grounds, but as you rightly point out, you have no other grounds on which to base it at this moment. I will side with whomever you choose, Solona."

Leliana tried valiantly to keep the shock from her face. That Morrigan would agree with Solona wasn't necessarily outrageous, but that Morrigan would admit someone who disagreed with her opinion might be right? That was what flabbergasted the bard.

Solona looked around. "Anyone else?" Sighs, murmured negatives, and shaken heads all around. "All right, then we are agreed. Now, Natia, would you be kind enough to teach me what in the Maker's name a Proving is?"